


A Debt Owed

by cosmonewt



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Cell is a bully, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Not a redemption fic, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships, also mutual unhealthy obsession, but you're no catch either, gender neutral reader, hokey fake science, in that they keep enabling each other to be The Worst, more like reader is a baby super villain and doesn't know it yet, mutual “how dare you make me feel one (1) whole emotion”, reader is a funky little mad scientist, takes place during DBS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmonewt/pseuds/cosmonewt
Summary: Years ago, you made headlines as the sole survivor of a doomed town. A feat you’ve attributed to pure luck. So why is it you’ve decided to rebuild the thing that ate your neighbors???





	1. Calling Your Bluff

**Author's Note:**

> If you keep checking the Cell/Reader tag, it's mandatory to contribute. I don't make the rules. I'm just serving my time.

People called you brilliant once. They admired your steady hands and your keen mind. Your peers thought you unshakable. If you survived what you had, what was left to frighten you? You had been through hell and come out composed, ready for anything. Your mentors had relished where your talents would take you. Someone as bright as you could’ve changed the world.

Instead you were here. In a vast, isolated facility. In front of a monitor with your fists clenched at your sides. Trying to dissuade vultures from taking your project. You took slow breaths to school the emotion from your face.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t truly _your_ project. What mattered is that you would do it better.

But there were so many strings attached.

“I must refuse your offer, Commander,” you were loath to call the man on the monitor by his title, self appointed as it was, but you were trying to remain polite.

Firm but polite.

The Commander was an older man with salt and pepper hair and a crisp uniform. The red insignia on his jacket reminded you more of an hourglass tipped on its side than of a ribbon. Every few years someone would rebuild the Red Ribbon Army. The Commander was the latest fool with more money than sense to try. It was a shadow of the original. Little more than a mercenary unit with delusions of grandeur. They would met an abrupt end like all their predecessors.

They were idiots. But they were _armed_ idiots.

The Commander shook his head, he hated dealing with you as much you hated dealing with him, “If you would only let us assist with the project, we’ve already contributed so much, I’m sure both of us could benefit.”

You quirked an eyebrow at that. You had made a few purchases from his Red Ribbon Army, none of which he approved of. He was trying to put a positive spin on his own mistakes.

The first time, you had purchased one of Gero’s auxiliary labs from them. They didn’t know what they had and you only knew by questioning Gero’s former colleagues from the original Red Ribbon Army. Gero hadn’t made many friends, most where happy to air grievances. More importantly, they wouldn’t have given the new Red Ribbon Army the time of day. And you were young, a nobody. What harm could you do? By the time the Commander realized what he’d lost, you had already sold the empty real-estate. The lab equipment and the neglected research went with you.

The second time, you had bribed his underlings to look the other way while you took something they were leaving to languish on a Petri dish.

That one stung.

“I have what I need, thank you. Our business is over,” you faked a polite smile. _Firm but polite_ , you reminded yourself. You know you shouldn’t antagonize them. If they found you, they would kill you. That thought made you tired more than it made you afraid. Tired of watching your back. Tried of playing nice while they held the ax over your neck.

“While I’m willing to concede that the caches of data you bought are yours to do with as you please. The samples taken from our people-”

“Also purchased,” you corrected.

“Sold to you by traitors whom you coerced,” it was the Commander’s turn to offer a fake smile, more a baring of teeth.

“The insubordination of your men is hardly _my_ concern,” an ant-like bot the size of a small dog struck you in the ankle. You gently shooed it away with your foot and it continued cleaning. The ant-bots were one of your earliest creations. You had been so proud of them. Now they reminded you of ugly, expensive Roombas. They scurried throughout the compound, tending to the building’s maintenance. It was only you in this big empty facility and you couldn't do everything alone.

“It was _our_ scientists who searched the battlefield after the Cell Games! We damn near combed a continent for those samples! Some of it was in the fucking stratosphere!” the Commander was shouting now, he always had a short fuse.

The patience sapped from you, your fixed smile waned, “And I thank them for their work but those samples were wasted in their hands.”

“Excuse me?” he hissed through clinched teeth.

“Not that your people lack skill,” you absolutely meant that his people were incompetent but things were getting messy. The Commander was angry and you weren’t interested in sitting through his usual tirade. It was time to hammer home the issue that always shut him down.

“But you wouldn’t want to connect your organization to something that threatened to destroy the Earth, would you?” your voice was saccharine, false even to your own ears. Threatening the Commander was the only good part about dealing with him, and even that thrill was getting stale.

The general public didn’t know Gero. They didn’t know he worked for the Red Ribbon Army. They didn’t know he created Cell. And the threat of exposure was the only thing that kept the Commander at bay. His Red Ribbon Army lacked both the ruthlessness of the original and your anonymity. They had a public image, a face to maintain.

They wanted to bend Gero’s doomsday weapon to their agenda but they didn’t want the stain that comes with it.

They were too shortsighted for your tastes.

The Commander ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up gave him a sort of manic energy, “I’m done playing with you.” He abruptly cut off the video feed but the audio lingered, “I’m willing to bet you don’t want to attract _certain attention_ any more than I do.”

As the Commander disconnected, there was a loud sound and the entire complex shook. The floor rocked beneath you but you managed to catch yourself on the desk.

Holy shit. He was actually going through with it!

The Commander had threatened for years to take the project by force. He must have finally found the guts to call your bluff.

You might not fear a moral outcry like the Commander did. But you feared the people who could destroy the project. The truth was you could never carry out your threat. Not if there was the slimmest chance it would’ve gained their attention.

Entering a few hasty commands into the computer, you heard the mechanical hum of compartments opening up along the walls in the nearby hallway. Nodding once to yourself, you ran towards the hall. Ant-bots swarmed the hallway, teeming from the once hidden compartments. Some had compact little turrets mounted where the head should be.

You had never needed those.

As you ran, you heard distant gunfire and shouts that sounded like orders. Another explosion sent tremors through the walls.

How many walls did they _need_ to bring down!?

You hoped the ant-bots would be adequate. You had nothing else. You couldn’t stomach those bastards stealing your work.

The Commander didn’t know how close the project was to completion. He didn’t know you were running out of ways to keep it under. It adapted quickly, no sedative or anesthesia worked for long. Once you’d gotten the cells to regrow into something sustainable, you had actually had to slow the regeneration process. Rewriting the DNA had been especially difficult. In most instances, it proved impossible. Once tweaked, somethings would simply _right_ themselves, destroying months of work and landing you back at square one.

One wrong move and the creature you had painstakingly rebuilt would be awake.

It was not ready to be awake.

Not when you couldn’t control it.

The sounds of boots, gunfire, and the clacking of mechanical insect legs chased you down the hall. Your hands shook as you scanned your fingertips on the lab door terminal. Once the door slid open, you practically threw yourself inside. The reinforced door locked silently behind you, muffling the sounds of approaching combat. Only in the relative quiet of the lab, could you hear your heart hammering in your ears.

The main lab was the most secure room in the building. But there were no weapons here and even if there were, you had never used one in your life. You built the ant-bots for maintenance, you had only started weaponizing a few after the Commander kept hassling you. Contacting you on lines he shouldn’t have. The complex had never needed more security. Before today, you assumed this place was a secret the Red Ribbon Army did not possess. Those unwelcome calls should have told you otherwise.

And no amount of firepower or steel doors would’ve protected you from the _bigger threats_ to the facility.

You tried to soothe your nerves, you couldn’t let these people see you scared. You hated people seeing you scared. You had been through worse. This was nothing. A minor setback. A loud sound hitting the lab doors immediately set you back on edge.

As if there wasn’t enough to deal with, a chirping alarm began to play throughout the building intercoms. That was _not_ a security alarm. It was more important. It could reach you no matter where you were in the facility.

Your jaw went slack.

That alarm meant your project was showing signs of awakening. Your current means of keeping it unconscious were failing. You needed to fix it. Fast.

They had chosen the worst possible time to attack.

You rushed towards the containment pod on the far side of the lab but you didn’t make it. The lab doors blew open. Ant-bots and soldiers with red insignia spilled into the room. You ducked behind a heavy desk as gunfire sprayed across the room; hitting filing cabinets, monitors, and one of the ULT freezers.

Your whole frame trembled as you tried to crawl the rest of the way to the containment pod. It was so close now. Nearby the pod, there was a lab refrigerator miraculously undamaged in the chaos. It held the latest chemical concoction you’d cooked up to keep the subject under. You just had to get to it and you could administer it to the pod.

On your hands and knees, gunfire pelted the floor in front of you. You scrambled back behind the desk. Your throat hurt, you didn’t remember screaming but you must have. You would never make it.

Outgunned and going down fast, the ant-bots couldn't keep the soldiers preoccupied for long.

Taking a deep, raspy breath, you tried to shout over the din, “Stop it! Damn it, stop!”

Bargaining seemed pointless but your words were all you had left. If you couldn’t keep the subject under, thugs with guns would be the least of your worries. You had to try.

“STOP!” desperate, you stood from behind the desk, your hands raised in a placating gesture.

Through the gunfire and mechanical whir of the ant-bots, you heard the musical clink of glass cracking somewhere behind you. It was immediately followed by the much louder crash of the containment pod exploding. The room filled with dust and smoke.

A white-hot light streaked past your head. You shielded your face with your arm from the backlash and tried to blink away the afterimage. Save for the low rumble of the walls crumbling, everything went quiet. Out of your periphery, you could see a pale hand inches from your face. The arm sagged onto your shoulder, heavy enough to make your knees buckle. The only thing that kept you on your feet was the fear locking your joints into place.

The soldiers were gone. The ant-bots were gone. The wall was gone. The subsequent walls were gone. The building had a hole cut neatly into it. You were vaguely aware of daylight somewhere on the far side of the complex.

You turned your head slowly. You’d seen him in the containment pod but that was different. Awake and standing there, it was impossible to reduce him to "the project”. He looked different from when you first saw him all those years ago. He was bulkier now and his carapace was a lighter shade of green. There wasn't a long tail any more but old fears were hard to quell, you looked for it anyway.

This was not the Cell who had stalked you through your hometown, turning suburban streets into something alien and frightening. This was the Cell you’d seen on TV, announcing his “games” and a countdown to the end of the world.

_He killed everyone you knew. It was dumb luck you lived._

You dug your nails into your palms hard enough to hurt, the pain drove those thoughts away and grounded you. You had to play the outsider. _That happened to someone else._ You couldn’t afford fear. You couldn’t afford to stumble.

You hadn’t taken a breath in a long while.

Cell’s breathing was heavy and his posture slumped, his arm still rested on your shoulder. The analytical part of your brain that kept taking notes even while the rest of you was in panic mode wondered how quickly he’d adapt. He didn’t even seem to see you.

Before the dust could settle, Cell promptly vanished. Leaving you alone in your ruined lab.

 

* * *

 

To be honest, you had expected some monologuing.

Your lab was a disaster. Everything still smelled faintly of ozone. The ant-bots tended to most of the mess, dragging off chucks of plaster and warped steel. There was a massive hole in the building and who knows how many bullet holes all throughout. Looking through the wall, you were thankful your living quarters hadn’t been in that direction.

Aside from little crescent indents on your palms from your nails and a thin layer of dust in your hair, you appeared untouched.

It still wasn’t safe to leave the lab.

The Red Ribbon soldiers who survived had turned tail after the blast. They were being picked off by the remaining turret bots as they tried to flee. Every once in a while you could hear muffled cries and gunfire elsewhere in the complex. Between that and the clean up, the ant-bots were doing more work in a day than you’d seen them do in years.

You nudged a piece of equipment, mangled beyond repair, with your foot. If it hadn’t been yours, you wouldn’t have been able to tell it was the microplate reader.

A sigh escaped you. You had fucked up.

You were still alive and the planet hadn’t blown up _yet_. But there was no denying you had fucked up. That teleportation trick wasn’t in any of Gero’s notes. And even if it had been something you could account for, you couldn’t have stopped Cell. He was awake way ahead of schedule.

You weren't even sure which changes to his programming would stick.

You rooted through an untouched filing cabinet and found an old radio. You took it to the workbench that was the most intact and sank into the chair with the fewest bullet holes. The few surviving monitors were set to display a rotation of the facility’s surveillance cams. You tuned the radio to an AM news station.

Just in case.

The fact that no one with spiky gold hair was breaking down your remaining walls meant the energy cloaking field was working. You had created it to mask the energy of anyone within the complex. But whatever happened once Cell left the premises was entirely out of your hands.

You had also created a way of locating energy signatures but that was completely busted. The bulky circular tablet had taken a spill when the containment pod had exploded. Spider web cracks covered the display screen. So much for tracking him down. You set about fixing it, trying to keep your mind off your missing monster or the soldiers still in the complex.

As you worked, you tuned in and out of the monitors and the radio.


	2. Paved In Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tentative arrangement is struck.

It had been three days.

The walls and doors of the facility were mostly rebuilt. The ant-bots salvaged those of their number that they could. The grisly business of incinerating the bodies of the Red Ribbon soldiers had been taken care of. You were almost finished repairing the energy locator. It took precedence, you had no other means of finding your wayward project.

There was no trace of Cell until you found him pacing in your living room one night.

Frozen in the entryway, you tried to find your voice.

He didn’t appear to notice you. He just kept pacing. He was a surreal sight against your white carpets and seldom used furniture. The ever present scientist in you, the one that kept observing even when the rest of you was internally screaming, noted the curious sound his feet made when he walked.

 _It was dumb luck you lived,_ a persistent voice reminded you. It pleaded with you to turn around and flee. You took a deep breath, banishing the thought. You didn’t come this far to back out now.

“How is this possible? How are they THAT much stronger!?” he curled and uncurled his fingers like the problem was there. He must have been venting to himself like that for some time.

The facility was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, one of the windows was letting in a cool breeze. A lone light from the kitchen lit up the living room enough that you could see glints of glass all over the couch and floor. Crumpled beneath the windows were a few ant-bots. Likely destroyed getting in Cell’s way, either trying to clean the broken glass or determining if he was an intruder.

You exhaled and walked into the living room, “You were dead a long time. A lot happened.”

Cell paused in his pacing, finally acknowledging your presence. He watched you walk to the small circular table that served as your dining room. His gaze made your shoulders tense. It made you want to run. You willed yourself to move at an easy pace as you took a seat. You would show nothing, he would get no more fear out of you. You hadn’t taken off your lab coat yet, so you fished a pad of paper and a pen from the deep pockets.

Time to see how your project was coming along.

“And who exactly are _you_?”

“We’ve met,” you responded icily. Even across the room, you swore his eyes lit with curiosity. You didn’t need questions about that. He wouldn’t remember you. At least, you hoped he wouldn’t. You tried again, “I rebuilt you. You’re welcome.”

You took some initial impressions on the pad of paper. The sound his feet made could’ve been the carapace connecting poorly at the ankles. The joints connected differently elsewhere. If it hindered flexibility it was a potential issue to fix once you got the project back under control.

And you would get the project back under control.

He crossed his arms and approached the table, “Aside from having excellent tastes, why would a silly little thing like you do something like that?”

Considering he’d been having some kind of melt down when you came in, he sure was acting cocky now.

You steeled yourself for this part, “You owe a debt.”

“A debt? Oh, I’m sure this will be good,” he circled around the table until he came to where you sat. He stood over you, forcing you to crane your neck if you wanted to look at him.

It was either his blasé attitude or his obvious intimidation attempt that set you off, but your voice hiked with emotion, “You owe the cities you emptied. You owe the people you killed. You owe-”

_Me. You owe me!_

You smoothed the lab coat over your knee and found your calm voice again, “Death may have been a fitting punishment but it didn’t balance the scales.”

He stared down at you, arms still crossed, smirking like he found his all terribly amusing.

You ignored him and focused on the sheet of paper in front of you, “I can think of no better recompense than protecting the planet you once threatened.”

Your scanners would pick up things that concerned you, things that lit it up like a fireworks display. Some you could identify, like an alien lizard with DNA somehow present in Gero’s notes. Some you couldn’t, like a pink creature that seemed to loiter in the home of a celebrity martial artist. Yet, the things your scanners couldn’t pick up were far more concerning. There was a… _cat_ that outpaced Earth’s fighters in every way. You only had grainy pictures of it from hacked surveillance cams because it kept showing up at public restaurants _._

And something weird was always going on in the skies over Capsule Corp.

No one knew about these things. No one knew how precarious these things made Earth’s continued existence.

The people who did know. The ones who were Earth’s only defense, seemed like collaborators half the time or would vanish from your scanners for months on end. Sometimes, you thought their presence alone was the problem. You hated the lack of control. You hated that humanity couldn’t defend itself. That it was out of your hands as a species.

You decided to make a defense you could control. The fact that you would sate your own vendetta was only a side benefit.

His laugh almost sounded genuine, “You brought me back for _community service_? That’s the most naive thing I’ve ever heard. And that’s saying something, I fought Goku.” His expression soured at the mention of Goku, he lost the artificial mirth in his voice, “You do know Goku and his ilk do that kind of thing by choice? Not to be ungrateful, but I’ll have to decline.”

“Yes well, I don’t trust them.” _And_   _I'm not giving you a choice._

“And you trust _me_? That’s not very smart. I would rather kill you and everyone you know.”

 _He killed everyone_ _you_ _knew._ You suppressed a shudder. _No,_ _pretend it_ _happened to someone else._

“I don’t trust you, but they’re too unpredictable. I can’t control them,” you knew you said the wrong thing the second the words left your mouth.

“And you can control me?” his voice got low and dangerous.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, yanking you to your feet and then to your tiptoes. He squeezed once, enough to bring tears to your eyes. You held onto your pen and note pad, pen poised like you intended to take notes through your own neck snapping. You kept your face blank even as you blinked back tears. You refused to give him the satisfaction of your fear, but your pulse fluttering in the palm of his hand gave you away.

_Moment of truth._

He blinked once in surprise.

“Why can’t I kill you?” he sounded vaguely troubled.

_Thank fuck._

“You… never actually met Gero, did you?” you tried not to sag with relief while he still held you upright by the neck. You hated how strained your voice sounded. “After the behavioral issues of 17 and 18, he wised up enough to program future projects not to kill him,” you took a wheezy breath. “I altered what was already there to apply to… me instead.”

He let you go. It took effort to remain standing instead of collapsing back into the chair. You wanted to rub your throat but clutched the pen tighter to stay your hand, “By extension, that also means the planet I live on.”

You weren’t sure your alterations were permanent, but you didn’t tell him that. You also didn’t mention that it wouldn’t prevent him from doing a great deal of destruction otherwise. He could wipe out cities as long as you weren’t in them. It also wouldn’t stop him from doing that teleportation trick and marooning you on some alien world while he destroyed Earth. You hoped it didn’t have that kind of range.

“That’s almost funny. If the doctor had still been alive that would have…”

“Spoiled your game?” you offered.

“I can still hurt you,” it wasn’t a question. He reached out to you and you tripped over the chair in your haste to back away. The notepad and pen went flying.

“There’s a kill switch! All Gero’s creations have them,” you sputtered from the ground. You were going to feel that fall in the morning. Right now, all you felt was the fear you were struggling to reign in.

You hadn’t finished the kill switch. One was present and you knew how to remotely detonate it. But the sheer scale of the kill switch had vexed you. It would’ve destroyed the planet along with Cell. You’re not sure what possessed Gero to design that feature.

But Cell didn’t need to know it was an empty threat.

He was glaring at you but he wasn’t advancing.

You clenched your jaw and stood, picking up the chair with you. You held onto the back of the chair, keeping it between you and him. Like some caricature of a lion tamer. You needed time, you had developed something powerful enough to anesthetize him. If you could put him under, you could resume reprogramming him.

He just needed to stay here.

“And even if you can deal with me, you can’t deal with Goku,” their names were awkward in your mouth. To you, their names had only ever been notations next to a line of DNA. The world didn’t know them, you hadn’t until you’d gotten Gero’s notes and did some digging of your own. By the time you started monitoring them from a distance, you thought of them as those lines of code. “They’re all stronger than you now.”

“Be _very_ careful with what you say next,” he had enough reach to grab the chair on either side of your hands and plant it on the ground. He didn’t take it from you, but he easily could have. “I would love to see how quick you are with this kill switch.”

“You found them, didn’t you? That’s why you came back,” you were only guessing, but it made sense. Why come back unless he thought there were answers here? “I’ve been keeping tabs on them. I intended for you be on their level. I’m prepared to get you there!”

“Keep talking,” he must have really disliked what he’d seen out there if he was willing to hear you out.

“Gero lacked focus. When he could have been working on you, he was wasting resources and repurposing his mistakes. If he had planned better, you would be perfect.”

“I am perfect,” he bristled. He leaned into your space and you instinctively tried to lift the chair. He moved his hands over yours and kept both it and you in place.

“I can do better than Gero! I don’t waste time on inferior projects,” you sounded confident because you were. You weren’t strong or fast. But you were smart. “Even if you don’t believe me, you need a place to lay low. So in the meantime, let me try.”

He watched your face, trying to gauge the truth in your statement, “And if I never pay this debt you claim I owe?”

 _You will_ , you thought.

“We’ll see,” you said.

He frowned at that response but carried on, “And if I kill the people you’re trying to make me stronger than?”

You looked him dead in the eye, “That’s an acceptable loss.”

 _Where the hell had that come from!?_ It shocked you that you meant it. But surely you’d get the project back on track before it came to that.

“We might get along after all,” he let go of your hands. “I do expect results. Don’t disappoint me, doctor,” Cell turned his back on you and exited your living quarters, wandering further into the facility.

There were indents on your palms from the back of the chair. You couldn’t tell if it was from him holding you in place. Or you clinging to the chair like your life depended on it.

But it had worked. He was staying. You could fix this mess.

 

* * *

 

The next morning you found your lab in disarray again. Cell was going through your stuff. Papers were strewn across desks and workbenches. The drawers were open on all the filing cabinets. The refrigerator, where you stored the anesthetic you’d developed, was wide open. Things were knocked over and moved around inside but the anesthetic was otherwise untouched.

It wasn’t labeled, he likely didn’t know what it was.

You closed the refrigerator door. Your hand running over a spot where a bullet had nicked the edge during the Red Ribbon attack.

“Excuse me, what is this?” you gestured at the lab around you.

There were a few crushed ant-bots. Some of the still functioning ones had designated the paperwork as trash and were trying to dispose of it. Last night, you had the foresight to reprogram the bots to recognize Cell as a non-hostile entity. They were either still getting in his way or he just liked breaking them.

“Seeing what you do or don’t know, doctor,” he was flipping through some notes.

You raised an eyebrow at the moniker. You hadn’t actually earned a doctorate yet. But you let it slide.

You recognized the notes in his hand as yours, not Gero’s. You itched to snatch them away from him. It was clear you had plans for him, but it was another thing for him to see the details.

“With all this, you could have built me from scratch.” He crinkled his nose, “But I supposed that wouldn’t fulfill this debt you imagine I owe.”

You got closer, stepping gingerly over papers and busted ant-bots, “I had considered it. You certainly would’ve been more malleable to alterations and far easier to control.”

He lowered the notes to glare at you.

That look halted you in your tracks, “There are certain components to your current form that are beyond my reach. Replicating them would be impossible.”

“Ah yes, 17 and 18. They do seem rather difficult to reach now.” He looked down at you and his smile was not friendly, “So when you were weighing the option, did it clear your conscience to think of them as _components_?”

That was too on the mark for your tastes. You chose to ignore the jab, “It also would’ve taken me decades. Given his divided attention, I have no clue how Gero did it in such a short amount of time. It even contradicts the estimates in his notes.”

His expression changed into something blank but you could’ve swore his shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was your turn to glare but he waved it way, “You don’t know about the time travel, do you?”

You couldn’t tell if he was fucking with you.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you started collecting papers, stacking them to return to the filing cabinet.

“Oh come on, Gero isn’t the only person you’ve stolen from. You can’t tell me you never came across hints of it while pilfering Capsule Corp schematics?” he disregarded the notes and started hunting through the stacks of paper for something specific.

You stood there mouthing a retort that never came. You rebuilt this giant cockroach from next to nothing and he had the audacity to critique the way you did it!? There had been some less than honest acquisitions of resources but some things weren’t for sale! You wanted to crumple up the notes and throw them at him.

Instead you closed your eyes and silently counted to ten. You had to be calm. He was trying to piss you off. Being angry with him wouldn’t help you anymore than being afraid of him would.

“Speaking of which, did you actually make this?” he returned to you with the schematics for a gravity chamber, the Capsule Corp logo prominent in the corner. You felt your eye twitch.

“I did say I intended to make you stronger, didn’t I?” you let the papers you were collecting fall to the table so you could knead your temples.

“Fantastic, show me the way,” he patted your head like you were a child, you failed to conceal your scowl.

 


	3. Hide and Seek

It had been a week since Cell had returned to the complex. You were finally getting sleep again. Initially, it had been impossible to sleep when you knew he roamed the building doing who knows what.

He claimed he didn’t need sleep. So you hadn’t needed to arrange a sleeping space somewhere in the facility for him.

At least he mostly stayed out of your living quarters. Mostly.

He never asked about the soldiers that were there when he awoke. He probably didn’t care. He had technically saved your life but you knew that was not the intent. Your gratitude over it was as lukewarm as his own over you reviving him. You liked being alive, he liked being alive. Neither of you wanted to thank anyone over it.

You were sitting in a small observation room that looked down into the gravity chamber. A thick pane of ballistic glass between you and the room. Aside from some alterations, the gravity chamber was similar to the one at Capsule Corp.

When you built this room, you weren’t sure the project would ever need it. It was a precaution in case your alteration weren’t enough to compete with physical training. This was not what you had in mind when you promised to make Cell stronger. But he didn’t trust you enough to let you make any modifications to his person. Granted, that mistrust was well founded. You did intend to put him under and pretend this premature venture into the world of the living never happened.

You were only halfheartedly observing his training today. Your notes where less on his combat abilities. Most the time you couldn’t see him move anyway, which was disconcerting in itself. Instead your notes were on further adjustments you could make to the gravity chamber.

“I’m curious, did you mean what you said, doctor?” his voice over the intercom drew you out of your work.

He had taken to calling you “doctor” although you weren’t sure how to feel about it. He often referred to Gero as simply “the doctor”. You weren’t keen on being Gero’s replacement. Gero was an obsessed psychopath. You knew what you were doing. You had good reasons.

You looked through the window, pressing the intercom button on your side, “Did I mean what?”

“You don’t care if I kill them?” he continued shadowboxing while he spoke, not even glancing your way.

You sighed and set your notes down. It’s not like you wanted them dead, you were merely indifferent about their fate. The promise of their death seemed to placate Cell, so you let him have his little revenge fantasy. “If everything bad can be narrowed down to a handful of people than those people are the problem. Even you were created because of them. So yes, I don’t care.”

“And you want me to replace them? Isn’t that just one more problem for Earth?”

You knew what he was doing. He had done it a few times before. He was trying to pick at your motivations. To get under your skin. Sometimes it seemed like he was trying to drag something else out of you. You weren’t sure what.

You leaned back in your chair, “I didn’t rebuild you to replace them. I rebuilt you because you owe a debt.”

“Right, _that_. You can’t still believe that’s going to happen.”

You turned away from the intercom, mumbling, “You can weasel out of it over my dead body.”

The glare he shot at you made you wonder if he heard you, “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Am I endangering Earth? Maybe if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“And you know what’s best for an entire planet?”

“Yes,” you said flatly.

“I didn’t expect you to be so arrogant, doctor.” He took a few more jabs at the air then dropped his stance in exasperation, “If you’re so clever, can you make something for this room that remotely poses a threat?”

You let your head loll to the side in annoyance. _Fu_ _ck it_.

“I do have one thing,” your voice was sickly sweet. He didn’t know you well enough to know that voice was you at your worst. You switched off the intercom, you could still see him talking.

You hit a button on the control panel beside you, a metal security shutter slowly came down over the observation window. Your last sight of him before it closed was him staring at the window with a perplexed frown. He wasn’t talking anymore.

You flipped open the protective case on an otherwise innocuous dial. You cranked the dial. In that moment you felt like a kid with a magnifying glass over an anthill.

Despite the protective shielding, you could feel the low rumble from the adjacent room.

Cell suddenly appeared in the small room with you, filling it with smoke and a smell that you could only describe as burnt plastic. Bits of his crown and wings were missing. The edges of his carapace were singed and hissed with heat.

“WHAT. WAS. THAT?!”

You shrugged and turned the dial off, your face a blank mask, “Before you woke up, I was going to keep exploiting this bit in your genetics that makes you stronger each time you come back from a near death experience. I guess the incinerators aren’t up to the task.”

“Is that so?” his death glare was out in full force.

“It’s a shortcut. I figured you’d claim you were above shortcuts. But you did ask.”

Cell was still for a moment and then the missing bits of his crown and wings sprouted back into place. You sat up straight and drummed your fingers together, a small smile tugged at your lips. You were familiar with his regeneration ability but it was different seeing it outside of a controlled environment.

He raised a finger in warning, “Try that again and we’ll find out how many of your bones I can break before your programming decides I’m... killing... you...” His words trailed off. The ice had melted from your expression, you were staring at him with wide-eyed delight. “Not the response I expected. Perhaps I should threaten you more often?”

“Fascinating!” you hopped up out of your chair and began to circle around him. You were not listening to a word he was saying.

“Of course I am,” he huffed, the anger began to subside to mild agitation.

A few days ago he had explained that he was able to hide his ki, which was how he’d been able to get close enough to anyone without being detected. Your thrilled response had made him insufferable. It seemed if your compliments were sincere, you could derail him from most things. Not all, but most.

You waited for him to stop smoking before tentatively reaching toward his wing. You ran a hand over a part of his wing that had been missing. It was completely smooth, no seam or indent to show the injury had ever been there.

“Perfect,” you muttered to yourself.

“Obviously,” he responded, startling you a bit. “But you should ask before touching”, his wing twitched, knocking your hand away. You felt your face heat, for a moment you had forgotten you weren’t in your lab, working by yourself.

“Don’t think you can distract me with flattery. I expect something in return for that little trick,” he turned to you and grabbed your chin, tilted your face up. So much for asking before touching. His smile was more a predatory flash of teeth, “My training lacks live prey.”

Your eyes widened and he vanished. The pull of air on your hair and coat were the only indication he had moved faster than you could perceive and not used teleportation. You were getting better at discerning the difference. Seconds later the power went out, the facility consumed by darkness. The red emergency lights flickered to life.

“Hey! That shuts down the energy cloaking field!”, fear or anger, you couldn’t tell which, drove you as you shouted into the dark.

You crept out into the hallway, keeping your back and hands against the wall. You hadn’t tested the emergency lighting as much as you should have. There were long stretches of hallway where the red lights were out or flickering uselessly.

“Oh relax, we’re just playing a game,” his voice came from somewhere in the hall, you couldn’t tell which direction. “And you’re not capable of making me exert myself.”

There was a sinking feeling in your chest, this game was all too familiar to you.

 _That happened to someone else._ You repeated the old reassurance to yourself as you edged down the dark hallway.

You didn’t think he remembered you from when he was Imperfect. He had consumed so many, what was one person that had slipped him by? He never mentioned it and surely it was something he’d gloat about if he knew. You weren’t keen to tell him either. Letting him know you had a personal vendetta seemed like a bad idea. Better to let him think you were a naive humanitarian with a weird sense of justice. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

You couldn’t think about that right now, you had to focus on one thing at a time. Right now, the priority was getting the power back on. Besides, he couldn’t kill you if he found you. _If he found you?!_ You tsked to yourself with disgust. He knew exactly where you were! He was fucking with you! The thought emboldened you, you hurried down the corridor, only one hand guiding you along the wall.

You needed to get to the electrical room.

Shit. _The_ _electrical_ _room._

To get to the electrical room, you would have to cross the storage room. Storage room was a bit of a misnomer, it was more of a warehouse. The whole facility was more space than you could ever use or need. It was meant to be fully staffed, not manned by one person and their colony of beagle-sized robots. But you had managed to pack one particularly large room with enough spare parts, lab equipment, and raw materials to fill a supermarket.

As you moved, you found a few crushed ant-bots along the way. One still tried to drag itself onward with its remaining intact legs. All of their headlamps were busted.

When you got to the storage room, you found a dark abyss awaiting you. None of the emergency lights were working inside. You lingered at the edge of the red light, trying to visualize what the room looked like the last time you saw it.

You yelped as a hand shoved your back, sending you toppling into the dark room. The doors slammed shut behind you, cutting off the faint light.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you spat out. You got back on your feet and reached out blindly around you.

The arrangement of the room meant that if you could get to one of the big industrial shelves it’d be easy enough to navigate the rest of the room. After stumbling over your own feet and righting your direction a few times, your hand finally came into contact with the grated metal of the shelves. With both hands on the shelf, you used it to guide yourself to the central walkway that split the room.

Hesitant to let go of the certainty of the shelf, you had a few false starts before finally darting to the next shelf. You exhaled and prepared yourself for the jaunt to the next one. A tug on the collar of your lab coat stopped you. Before you could react, Cell yanked you into the air by the back of your coat.

“No. No. Nononono,” you kicked at the air. In the dark you couldn’t tell how high up you were. You flailed once for Cell’s arm but gave up for fear of slipping out of the coat. “Please put me back on the ground,” you tried to sound calm but you were breathing too quickly. 

He lowered you but when your feet landed it did not feel like solid ground. You wobbled and heard something creak beneath you. You slowly crouched down, feeling more secure on hands and knees. You reached out and down, meeting empty space on both sides.

He had put you on top of one of the shelves.

“This is _very_ mature,” you grumbled.

“You started it,” came the voice from the darkness. “And I’m not setting you on fire, so I’d say that I am being very considerate.”

You thought about swallowing your pride and pleading with him to get you down. But you were seesawing between angry and afraid. And angry was wining. Groaning with apprehension, you swung a leg out over the edge of the shelf, foot hunting the air for the next rung. Even if you had light this would have been difficult. After a second of toeing the air, your foot finally connected with something solid.

You sighed with relief and gradually made your way down the shelf.

Things were going smoothly until your foot landed on a cardboard box, it shifted under your weight and sent you spilling to the floor. You were close enough to the bottom that it wasn’t a big fall. It was enough to knock the wind out of you and smack your skull against the coated concrete floor. You heard the box and its contents crash somewhere beside you.

You laid on the floor for a second coughing for breath while your head throbbed. You sat up and gingerly felt the back of your head. It was tender but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding.

Finding your feet, you groped for the shelves once more. Hugging each shelf for guidance, you made it the rest of the way across the room uninterrupted.

There was light spilling from the electrical room, along with a lot of mechanical clacking, the sight spurred you on. Inside a cluster of ant-bots were clawing out of their partially opened wall panel, headlamps bouncing light wildly across the room. When the power had gone out, they were deployed to fix the issue but the panel had jammed. The panel, much like the emergency lights, had its own energy reserve independent of the building’s grid. But like the emergency lights, you had neglected their upkeep.

The rest of the electrical room was a mess of sparks and exposed copper. Some of the draw-out breakers were ripped out of their enclosures or dislodged from their tracks. Of course he couldn’t turn the breakers off, he had to trash them.

Evaluating the damage, you determined the ant-bots could fix it in a day or two. In the meantime, there were backup generators. Not enough to power the whole facility but enough for the main lab and your living quarters. The ant-bots needed to be freed first. It took some hunting in the nearby lockers, their headlamps offering indirect light, but you were able to find a toolbox.

You began removing the wall panel. A few minutes of work revealed the bots had striped the screws while flailing to reach at them from the wrong side. If you found the time, you’d have to redesign these panels so the ant-bots could dismantle them from the inside themselves. A particularly stubborn screw required you to super glue the driver to it, letting them dry together so you could remove it.

After twenty minutes, the panel finally came loose and the ant-bots tumbled their way out of the recess. They scattered, examining the room and beginning repairs. You stretched to rid the kinks in your back that had formed while you'd been hunched over your work.

You had lost yourself in the task of removing the panel, it left you unprepared for the voice over your shoulder, “Are you finished?”

A shriek escaped you. You spun and swung a fist blindly. You instantly regretted it. Your fist connected with his chest and it felt like punching concrete. The outcome was the same.

_How long had he been there!?_

“Shit, shit, shit,” you held your wrist, your busted knuckles bleeding fat drops onto the floor.

“How did you think that was a good idea?” in the wavering light you didn’t see his condescending smirk so much as you heard it in his voice.

“You can’t control fight or flight!”

Still holding your wrist, you brushed past him. The pitch dark of the storage room made you immediately turn around. You started to walk back into the electrical room to snag an ant-bot to light your way, when Cell plucked you up under his arm. You hung at his side stiffly like a cat carried by its scruff.

“Humans are absurdly fragile,” you could hear the disgust in his voice as he carried you through the dark storage room.

Dangling face down, his arm holding you around the waist, you awkwardly held up your busted hand. You couldn’t see anything but you could feel the blood running up your sleeve.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping it elevated.”

He sighed and repositioned you. You were partially slung over his shoulder, his arm supporting you under your legs. You weren’t sure this was much better but at least it was easier to keep your hand elevated. You didn’t like being lugged around like a sack, certainly not by him, but at least you didn’t have to make the blind trek back through the storage room.

“Which way?” he asked as you finally returned to the red lit hallway. The thrum of his voice through his chest, made you acutely aware of how close you were. You wanted down. Now.

“It’s only my hand, I can walk from here,” you wriggled to get down and he abruptly dropped you. You landed on your rear and shot him an icy look. He stared down at you with blank detachment.

You stood up, keeping your injured hand at shoulder level. As you started to walk off, you paused mid-stride but didn’t look back, “Maybe a less terrifying game next time?”

“That all depends on you, doctor.”

“I see. And thanks, for the uh… lift?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

You jogged towards the medical bay, another facet of the facility you seldom used. Right now it seemed more appealing than the shallow medicine cabinet in your living quarters. Heedless of the poor lighting, your jog became a full run. You told yourself it was because of your injury, not because you could still feel his eyes on your back.

 

 


	4. A Less Terrifying Game

“What are you doing?”

You jumped, nearly cutting yourself in the process. You were awkwardly dicing vegetables, impeded by the makeshift splint on your dominate hand.

Cell stood on the other side of the kitchen island, arms crossed like he’d caught you sneaking in after curfew. If he stepped any further into the kitchen, he would’ve hit his head on the pots and pans hanging from the overhead rack.

While the power had been out, he had taken to pestering you in your personal quarters. There was nothing else to distract him in the dark facility. He hadn’t anticipated his actions would put a damper on his own routine. None of the back-up generators were adequate to power the gravity chamber.

Setting the knife down, you gave him a tight smile, “You could stop sneaking up on me.”

He was definitely doing it on purpose. You’re certain his heavy footsteps and the odd creaky sound they made, would tip you off. He had to be making an effort to be this quiet.

“Or you could be more observant.”

Sighing, you lifted the cutting board and dumped the veggies into a skillet already simmering with chicken, “To answer your question, I’m cooking,”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Oh, the hand? You see, I punched a jumped-up cricket who refuses to, I don’t know, clear his throat or something when he enters a room,” grabbing a wooden spatula, you clumsily stirred the skillet’s contents with your bandaged hand to belabor the point. Your ungainly motions tossed some sliced carrots and strips of bell pepper from the pan.

“Shouldn’t you have someone look at it? You were hardly graceful before, now you’re simply painful to watch.”

“I don’t see how it concerns you.”

“If it impedes your obligations to me, than yes, it concerns me.”

Giving him a flat stare, you thought about ignoring him. You weren’t ready to unpack that statement. His spin on staying here was that you were his personal… servant? Mechanic? Chew toy? It was either to soothe his ego or get a rise out of you, maybe both.

You chose to humor him, “The closet town is Fungus Town, do you know what’s in Fungus Town? A lovely little grocery store, huge fuck-off mushrooms, and that’s it.”

“There isn’t a hospital?”

“The closest one is in Satan City. That’s on the other side of a mountain range, the trip is four hours. My hand isn’t bad enough to warrant that,” you added a mixture of seasoning to the skillet.

“Satan City?”

“It had another name. I got renamed after-” you trailed off and spilled some of the seasoning. You blinked rapidly, _he_ _didn’t_ _recognize th_ _e_ _name?!_

The notion that Mr. Satan hadn’t defeated Cell had crossed your mind, but your attempts to rule him out were inconclusive. The issue became further muddled when some of them started turning blue, dropping off your scanners completely. You were second guessing everyone’s strength after that.

But if Mr. Satan hadn’t killed Cell, which one of them had?

“Forget it,” curiosity be damned, you weren’t ready to open that can of worms. Cell was in one of his civil moods despite your initial cattiness, it wasn’t worth spoiling. You changed the subject, “Do you even eat? I mean, I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

You grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with rice from the cooker. You were much more shaky getting the chicken and veggies on top of the rice. It looked as if a child had been cooking, splotches of seasoning and veggie chucks littered the stove top. You frowned at the mess, you were taxing your injured hand more than you should. The entire hand would ache if you so much as twitched the wrong fingers. Your cooking efforts had rewarded you with a persistent dull throb.

“Only when I needed to consume human matter while Imperfect. That was kind of like eating,” his tone was thoughtful. He wasn’t trying to upset you, only stating a fact.

You shuddered.

It troubled you how tolerable this arrangement this was becoming. You were thinking of him as your project again, tunnel vision on tests and results. Now that he was awake, your experiments were simply taking on a social aspect. But then he would say or do something that left you mentally scrambling to bury the past before it could unearth itself.

Your appetite had vanished.

Giving up on dinner, you stabbed a fork into the bowl and slid it over to him, “Try it.”

You started the electric tea kettle instead.

“If I don’t need it for sustenance, what is the point?” despite his statement, he took a step closer to the bowl.

“Fun?” you smirked as you watched him tilt his head around the pots and pans. You weren’t quick enough to hide the smile when he glanced your way.

 He gave you a dark look in return, “We have different ideas about what fun is.”

 _No kidding._ You thought back to his impromptu game of hide and seek. It reminded you that you wanted to try something. Your gaze traveled to the living room where you had a black and white board laid out on the coffee table. If you could convince him to try food, convincing him to try other things wasn’t out of the question.

He sat at one of the bar stools arranged on the other side of the kitchen island from you, freeing him to move more comfortably. With his wings, the bar stool was the only chair he could reasonably use.

Cell picked up the fork in an awkward fist, his nose wrinkled as he looked at the food.

Taking a spoon out of the drawer, you scooped some tea leaves into the teapot basket. Your motions were slow and deliberate, not just because you were using your off hand, you wanted to give him an example. If you started verbally explaining how to wield eating utensils, he’d get nettled and back out. And you wanted to see how this particular experiment would play out.

He watched your hand and shifted his hold on the fork to match.

You realized this was about to be his first meal and it was your half-assed stir fry, made even more sloppy because of your injury. That struck you as hilarious. You congratulated yourself on keeping a straight face.

With a detached expressed, Cell stabbed at the dish, moving the contents around like a picky toddler. He took a hesitant bite and you both flinched at the sound of his teeth grazing the fork. The unpleasant sensation took him out of the moment, he dropped the fork and the food back into the bowl.

“You don’t need to bite the fork,” you fixed your gaze on the teapot as you filled it. If you kept up the illusion he didn’t have an audience, he might not reject your advice.

“Yes, I figured that out,” he tried another bite. This one was more successful. One bite became another and then another. He stared off into the distance while he chewed, “How am I still able to sense them?”

It took you a moment to realize he was referring to the cloaking field. Many things in the facility had to go without power, but you couldn’t afford to leave the main lab in the dark. The cloaking field device, the ULT freezers, and the lab fridge had to remain functioning. “Think of it as one-way glass. You can see out, they can’t see in.”

“I can sense you. I can sense anyone that’s in the field with me?” giving up his disinterested guise, he started devouring the food.

“Yes, it-” A chill went down your spine, “Wait, you can sense _me_?”

“I know, a miracle considering how weak you are,” he scrapped at the bowl with the fork, a small frown on his face as if dissatisfied to find the bowl empty. “You’re like an annoying gnat always buzzing around my periphery.” 

“Says the wasp stuck in the blinds,” you mutter with your head buried in the cabinet. You wanted to know what else you could get him to eat. You found a half used bag of chocolate chips, they had gone gritty from age, a relic from a failed exorcise in baking. Plopping the bag down in front of him, you kept your eyes averted as you returned to your steeping tea. You felt like you were tossing scraps to a skittish bird. If it saw you watching it would fly off, but if you looked indifferent enough it might take the offering.

“Your injury better not impede any improvements to the gravity room,” he opened the bag and tried one. He made a pleased little hum and proceeded to eat the rest by the handful.

“I was thinking death lasers and spinning buzz saws,” opening the fridge, you took out a carton of strawberries. They were a treat that you were saving for yourself but you were too caught up in seeing what he’d eat to miss them.

“That doesn’t sound effective.”

“Don’t eat the green bits,” you said as you set the strawberries down. “What about a pit with alligators?”

“Doctor,” he said in a warning tone. He was more and more eager to take the food, the strawberries were quickly vanishing. He didn’t know what to do with the stems, so he piled them in the empty stir-fry bowl.

“Relax. I promise I’m taking this seriously. I've got something good up my sleeve,” going back to the fridge, you pulled out a jar of moderately hot chili peppers. You preemptively filled a small glass of milk.

Opening the jar, you offered him the peppers. He took one and ate it without hesitation. His face twisted with disgust. He sputtered and scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, as if that could banish the heat. The watery eyed scowl he gave you could’ve withered your houseplants.

“This will help,” you slid the glass of milk closer.

He slammed the milk down and closed his eyes, waiting for the burn of the pepper to subside. He was still for a long moment and then he opened an eye to glare at you, “Whatever that is, it’s foul and inedible.”

You raised an eyebrow as you popped one of the peppers into your mouth. Maintaining eye contact as you chewed, completely unfazed through the whole thing. You knew you were being petty, but he was being a child. They weren’t that bad.

“I see you’ve chosen to be impossible again,” he got up from the bar stool, careful not to hit the pots on his way up.

 _Shit!_ You still wanted to try something. Irritated with yourself that you’d blown your chance, you set down the jar and came around the kitchen island to cut him off, “Please don’t go away yet! I’m sorry about the pepper. You favor sweet over spicy. Noted.”

You squawked in protest as he picked you up under your arms and set you down off to the side. He could’ve stepped around you, he just wanted to remind you how ridiculous it was that you thought you could block his way in any capacity.

“Not interested.”

Undeterred, you stepped back in his path, “Let me make it up to you, I did promise you a game.”

Cell crossed his arms impatiently, but his expression was more curious than anything, “Hm, in that case, I suppose I can grace you with my presence a little longer.” 

You hurriedly grabbed your teacup, accidentally spilling some on the counter top, and led him into the living room. Realizing his wings would make the couch impossible, you set your tea down on an end table and started moving an ottoman. With your injury, you had to shove it with your off hand and your knees. Once the ottoman was in place, you picked your tea back up, and settled into the coach across from it.

Opening a small wooden box, you started taking out chess pieces, “This is a game of strategy. Like a battle, but instead of strength, use your wits.”

“I can do that,” he sounded somewhat indignant. The ottoman was too low to the ground for him and his knees were almost tucked up to his chest.

You explained the rules of the game, describing each piece and how it moved on the board. He asked very few questions, being unusually silent as he took it all in. He insisted on being white, so he could go first. You let him.

During the first game, he made a show of being bored with your ‘child’s game’. After your experience earned you an easy win, he began to take it seriously. When you won again, you could sense the frustration from him.

Despite his losses, he showed remarkable improvement with each game.

“This one is the strongest piece, the game should end when its taken,” he plucked up your captured queen. You had sacrificed it, knowing you had a pawn in position to replace it in a few moves. He had trouble sacrificing his own queen and hadn’t caught on that you had no such qualms. It had won you the prior game and you were going to keep exploiting it until he learned. “The king moves the same as the weakest pieces, in fact it’s even more useless because of its vulnerability. The pawns can at least be sacrificed.”

“Think of the king as a tactician. They’re not on the battlefield to fight, they’re calling the shots and directing the other pieces.”

“That’s ridiculous. If they’re not there to fight, they’re wasting space.”

After a few moves and misdirection, you got your pawn to the farthest end of the board, “My queen, please.”

“How can one of the weakest pieces become the strongest?” he begrudgingly put your queen back on the board in the pawn’s place.

“That little guy was as deep in enemy territory as you can get. Even a little threat can become a big one from a position like that.”

“If this is how you think battles work, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I suppose there's fewer explosions and teleportation than you’re used to,” you didn’t remind him that you had won every game so far, your prim little smile said it for you. “Speaking of which. Aside from the very first time. I noticed you only teleport towards me, not away. Why is that?”

“Oh, so you can be observant? I need to be able to sense someone’s ki to use it, I can’t just appear wherever I please.”

You leaned forward, “Who did you go to on that first day?”

“I didn’t think any time had passed at all. I thought it was still the day I died, I thought I was still fighting-”, he shook his head and moved a piece on the board. “I thought Hell may have been a nightmare.”

“Hell?” you raised an eyebrow. You misplaced your queen on the board, too thrown off by his statement to watch what you were doing. For a moment, you wondered if you’d damaged his brain somehow when you were rebuilding him. Most of the things you’d cooked up to keep him unconscious did so by preventing his brain matter from regenerating.

“I’m not elaborating,” he hastily moved a piece, it opened up his bishop for the taking. Your misstep with your queen went unpunished. Had he noticed, it would’ve changed the course of the game. Whatever had happened, it had rattled him. He was making mistakes.

“You think Hell is real? Like, a real physical place?” you picked up your cup to hide a faint smile in a sip of tea. Whether it was real or not, it was distracting him from the game. Another win was in your grasp.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at you and not the board, “Yes, I’ve been there.”

“I’m sorry, but whatever you saw _was_ a hallucination,” you set your tea back down.

“Remind me, which one of us was dead? What would you know about it?” he fidgeted, his knee bouncing and a wing flicked behind him.

“Humans have visions like that to cope with near death experiences. And you are partially human,” you offered a half shrug.

He reached across the table to grab your wrist, “There was nothing _near_ about it, I was dead. It was real, doctor. I know what I saw.” The hollow-eyed look on his face and the grip on your arm, as if he could physically will you to believe him, made you nervous.

You regretted pressing this issue.

“Okay, okay. I believe that you believe it was real, is that better?” you stiffly patted his hand on your arm. You had no idea how to comfort regular people, let alone a murderous bug monster. It was strange that he was so insistent. Visions of hell would imply guilt, but you were certain there wasn’t a shred of remorse in him.

“I should be grateful you don’t know as much as you think you do,” he altered his hold on your arm, pressing his fingers over the artery on your wrist. “Your problem, doctor, is that you think you’re smarter than everyone else. You pretend you’re too smart to feel anything.”

He moved his free hand over the chess board, your heart beat a little faster when he hovered over the piece that could turn the game in his favor, “You can’t conceal everything as well as you think you can.”

He held your wrist for the rest of the game. When it came to his move, you tried breathing slow and even. He just chuckled at your attempts to mislead him. You lost more and more pieces, your king harried into a corner.

You tried to tug your arm free but it was hopeless, “So we’re clear, I consider this cheating.”

“You might be the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met. Try hiding your little smirks better.” So he had noticed your ploy to distract him by talking about Hell.

He put your king into checkmate. Your glare was downright hostile. He smiled back at you smugly.

“See, isn’t it much better to show how you really feel?” he let you go and you snatched your arm back to your side. “We should do this again. I want to see what kind of face you make when I beat you properly.”


	5. While The Cat’s Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor alcohol use in this chapter btw. Not going to be a regular thing.

A persistent buzz played over the intercoms.

Cell had left the facility for the day. He had come to you, insisting he needed vertical movement and fresh air. Not exactly asking permission, you got the impression he was testing his boundaries. Making sure you wouldn’t get antsy and flip the kill switch while he was away.

If only it was that easy.

Power was finally restored to the facility and you had to make sure everything was functioning properly. If Cell could keep a low profile, you could stand to have him out of your hair. He found it amusing that you were more interested in maintaining secrecy than whatever trouble he could cause. In your opinion, the two went hand-in-hand, wanton destruction got noticed. You only hoped he had enough self-preservation to realize that.

Now you couldn’t figure out where this awful noise was coming from.

Flicking through the security feeds, you searched for anything amiss in the facility. Maybe Cell had cut his outing short and was discovering new ways to break your stuff? When you got to the outside cameras, you noticed something unusual. There were people at the front door.

Was that sound the doorbell? You had one of those???

Forgoing any ant-bot guardians, you made your way through the facility. You doubted the Commander would send anyone polite enough to use a doorbell. Lost travelers would be spooked by the ant-bots, they weren’t the friendly looking tech you could get at Capsule Corp. It would be best if you sent them on their way with fewer stories to tell.

Reaching what was supposed to be a lobby, left bare and uninviting, you could see two silhouettes standing at the glass double doors. The sunlight masked their details. One was peering in and waved when they spotted you.

Approaching cautiously, you unlocked the door and poked your head out, “How can I help-”

The absurdity of these two struck you silent.

The first was a curly haired man with a thick mustache, he was getting on in age and thinner than his promotional images. But even without the flashing lights and droves of adoring fans, there was no mistaking Mr. Satan.

The second made you forget Mr. Satan completely. It was big, pink, and smiling at you blankly. This had to be the mystery creature that lived in the Satan residence! And now it was here! On your doorstep! The scientist in you was internally cackling. Another voice warned you that Cell could be back at any moment. These people needed be gone long before that.

“Hello?” Mr. Satan waved a hand in front of your face, breaking your sight on the mystery creature. He had been speaking the entire time and you had been staring, slack jawed.

It tilted its doughy head in Mr. Satan’s direction and then directed a loud, “Hello!” back at you. Mimicking him.

“W-what is that?” you pointed at the pink creature. All subtly gone.

“That’s Buu. He’s my, uh, understudy,” Mr. Satan’s smile wasn’t entirely convincing. But everything about him was somehow boisterous and disarming all at once.

“Ah, uh, what do I owe the honor?” shaking you head to clear your mind, you introduced yourself and opened the door wide to let them in. You slipped your injured hand into your coat pocket to avoid any questions. You didn’t want to let them inside, but you were at a loss on how to turn them away tactfully. Mr. Satan was a hero, _the hero_ how saved the Earth. Even if you knew it wasn’t true, how do you tell someone like that to scram without looking suspicious?

The last thing you needed was a return visit. 

And you _had_ to get a better look at Buu. _What was he???_

“It’s silly really, but I gotta take these things seriously,” Mr. Satan was putting on a cheerful face but his eyes darted too quickly around the empty lobby.

“Oh?” you led them further into the building. You were trying to pay attention to Mr. Satan but your gaze kept traveling back to Buu. You _had_ to get a DNA sample of this thing! Was it alien? Was it an artificial construct? If so, who made it and why? If the hype about Mr. Satan wasn’t true, what was it doing with him?

As you exited the lobby, you realized you had led them past the boundary of the energy cloaking field. The arrival of these two had rattled you, you had to get it together and focus. You still didn’t know _why_ they were here. Mr. Satan didn’t appear to notice the change when he passed through the field. But neither did you, you only knew it was there because you built it. Buu, however, spent a moment giggling and dancing between the field.

“Buu, quit playing around,” Mr. Satan tugged at Buu’s mittened hand and he immediately bounced along after him. Mr. Satan smiled at you apologetically, “As I was saying, someone with a lot of clout is convinced you’re dangerous.”

You laughed at that and he laughed with you. It sounded a bit forced on his end.

 _What_ _is_ _this about???_

Did he think he was in danger here? Is that why he brought Buu? The novelty of the situation was starting to wear thin. You wanted to grab Mr. Satan and shake him until he spit out exactly why he was here.

Hoping civility would get you answers, you brought them into your living quarters. It was the only place in the facility you were comfortable letting them see. If they asked to see more, your polite exterior would crumble. How much trouble would you be in for kicking Earth’s Champion out of your _totally normal_ abandoned facility? You would have to ditch this place. And fast.

Thinking of the sheer cost of relocating almost made you stumble midstride.

“Not to be disrespectful, but why are you here?” you gestured for them to make themselves comfortable.

Mr. Satan spoke loudly, using volume to mask his nerves, “Like I said, someone as been getting people worked up, saying you’re up to something. It’s foolish, I know, but they’ve been very insistent.”

You put on the electric kettle, ready to play the doting host if it sped things along, “Up to something?”

“What do you do here?” he asked, avoiding your question. He sat down on your couch, Buu sat down on the ottoman you still hadn’t moved back into place.

“I’m an inventor of sorts, I’m working on a project,” you brought out a tray with creamer, sugar cubes, and teacups. The tray balanced on one hand while you kept your injured hand hidden at your side. You set the tray on the coffee table, beside the empty chess board. Without taking a seat, you waited for the click of the electric kettle.

“Project?” you could hear him swallow.

_What was he scared of?_

“I’m developing personal robots for home maintenance and repair,” you had practiced that lie in your sleep. You stepped over to the wall and hit a button, putting the little robot in guest mode and covertly selecting a data collecting mode. A lone ant-bot skittered out of its wall panel. “They’re not refined yet, a little too ugly for mass production.”

The ant-bot immediately went to work, meticulously picking at the carpet. Buu leaned down to pat it like it was a mechanical dog as it passed by the ottoman.

You went back into the kitchen and filled the teapot, you brought it out to set beside the creamer and the... empty sugar cube dish. You could have swore it was full when you brought it out. Taking the dish, you filled it with sugar cubes and brought it back out. Before you could settle into an armchair, Buu scooped up the dish and emptied the whole thing in his mouth. You stared, a smile tugging at the corners of your agape mouth.

“Buu likes! Can Buu have more?” There was a childlike charm to Buu, you couldn’t tell if that was distressing or reassuring.

“I’m sorry about him,” Mr. Satan smiled sheepishly as he filled a teacup for himself.

“Don’t be,” you muttered and rushed back into the kitchen, bringing out the entire box of sugar cubes. You handed them to Buu and backed away to observe. Grabbing big clumsily fistfuls, he shoved the sugar cubes into his mouth.

“Fascinating,” you sat down and filled a teacup for yourself, almost spilling it since you couldn’t take your eyes off Buu.

Mr. Satan sighed, “I’m just going to cut to the chase. This is going to sound ridiculous but this guy is convinced you rebuilt Cell.”

You choked on your tea, spitting it all down the front of yourself.

_Smooth._

Mr. Satan stared at you, his eyes a little too wide. Buu was still consuming sugar, but he perked to attention like a protective dog sensing its owner’s distress.

“Ridiculous is one word for it! Who is spreading this absurd story?” you got up to fetch a tissue from a nearby hutch. Trying to collect yourself, you patted at the tea down the front of your shirt.

“Some guy running a private militia. Normally, I’d ignore his type. But he’s got a lot of influence with better people than him. He’s scaring people with this story,” you heard the relief inching into his voice. “And when people are scared, well, I’ve got to be there.”

The Commander. _T_ _hat absolute shit!_

He had carried out his threat and ratted you out to the person everyone believed defeated Cell. You were too livid to be thankful he was as ignorant on the subject as you had been.

“I know this is a waste of time but I have to check, can I-”

“Excuse me,” you cut him off and retreated down the hall to your study. You knew what was coming next, he was going to ask to see the rest of the building. Exhaling as you leaned against the door, you had to end this inquiry immediately.

Knowing you didn’t have much time before they decided to check on you, you yanked open a drawer on your desk. Hunting for something you let get buried in the clutter, you smothered a spike of panic when you didn’t immediately find it. Had you finally tossed it out during some drunken, bitter night? You kept shuffling through papers, relief sagged your shoulders when you finally found the yellowed newspaper clipping.

You returned to the living room. You weren’t a great actor but you had an excellent poker face, “Whoever he is, he has an interesting sense of humor.”

_One Survivor After Residents of Another Town Vanish._

The headline glared up at you as you shoved the clipping at him. Mr. Satan took the aging paper gingerly. He read it and looked at you with a knitted brow. You looked away, you didn’t want to see your faded image on the paper. Using this to get out of trouble made your stomach knot.

Screw robots or armies. You were going to strangle the Commander with your own hands.

“This, uh, this was a huge mistake,” he handed the clipping back and stood up. “I should have known better. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Embarrassment hunched his shoulders as he ushered Buu up. At some point, Buu had polished off the sugar cubes and was venting their absence by tearing up the empty box. The ant-bot was circling the ottoman, frantically trying to clean up the mess.

“And I’m sorry such a fraud wasted your time. You clearly have better things to be doing,” you responded, somehow feeling obligated to soothe his discomfort.

Mr. Satan was a fake. And you were a seasoned liar.

Then why did deceiving him leave a bad taste in your mouth? Maybe it was the newspaper clipping that felt too heavy in your fingers? Maybe it was the fact that he’d come out here at all? He may not have been the real deal, but hell if he wasn’t trying. He didn’t deserve being a piece in your game with the Commander.

You escorted them out, silent during the walk back to the lobby. Occasionally, you could hear Buu whine and Mr. Satan make placating promises.

Standing at the glass double doors, you watched them walk to a car you hadn’t noticed the first time. It was too nice for the voyage out here. The unforgiving dirt road had coated it in dust and little dents. Mr. Satan squinted up at the facility one last time before getting into the car and driving away.

You hoped you wouldn’t see them again.

As you returned to your quarters, you passed through the kitchen. You stuffed the news clipping into the garbage disposal and switched it on, letting it run longer than it needed. Cleaning up the tea set, you glanced at the small wine rack on the counter top. After this, you had earned a treat.

Snatching a couple of bottles, you didn’t notice the ant-bot pestering you at your heels.

 

* * *

 

Cell found you in your study, sitting at your desk beside one and a half empty wine bottles. Your legs tucked up on the office chair. The ant-bot wouldn’t stop badgering you, it kept ramming into your ankles while you were trying to drink. When you heard it scrambling up the back of the chair, you’d place your hands on the desk and spin the chair violently to shake it off. Whatever it wanted, it could wait.

“Did you have fun?” you examined your empty wine glass.

“I went to see where my arena was,” he glanced around the book lined room curiously, he’d never been in here before. “Nice to see the giant crater is still there. Disappointing that there’s nothing else.”

“Did you want a plaque? If it’s any consolation, teenagers spend the night out there on dares. It’s supposed to be scary, but I’m pretty sure they just make out,” your mouth was working faster than your brain. You leaned forward in the chair to refill your glass.

Cell stared at you silently. You were usually only this crass after a lot of prodding on his part. The wine had cut to the chase for him.

Ignoring his look, you angled the monitor on your desk towards him. On it was a grainy image of a wiry humanoid cat in puffy pants. You had been drinking and mulling over West City’s latest crypid for a couple of hours. That pink creature showing up on your doorstep, had reminded you there were other things you still didn’t understand, “Do you know who or what this is?”

He got closer and peered at the monitor, “I can’t say that I do. Why?”

“Ever since it appeared, things have gotten weird. Goku goes all blue now and I can’t even track him. Well, him and that little one. Veg- Veg- oh, fuck it,” taking a swig of your wine, you weren’t even tasting it anymore.

“Vegeta?” he offered flatly. He was usually so smug when he knew something you didn’t know, he didn’t seem amused at all right now.

“Yeah, sure. It’s like their ki is on a different frequency.” There was a clambered at the back of the chair. You spun the chair and the ant-bot clattered to the floor. Spinning in circles was starting to give you a headache, “Hey, can I ask you a question that might piss you off?”

“You’re already aggravating me, so you might as well,” he was giving you that sideways glance that said you were on thin ice.

Your brain refused to register the warning, “Who killed you?”

“You don’t know?” He shook his head, looking at you in open disbelief, “How do people think I died?”

“It’s complicated,” you shrugged.

Mr. Satan was as human as you were. He was either very opportunistic to take credit for Cell’s defeat or he was protecting someone. Either way, you didn’t want to throw him under the bus. Besides, that Buu creature was stronger than Cell. Despite Cell being an insufferable asshole, you weren’t willing to let your hard work get vaporized in a pointless fight.

Cell was quiet for a long while. His mouth twisted around the name when he finally gave it, “Son Gohan.”

_Who the fuck was that?_

You tilted your head, staring at him vacantly. The name tugged at a memory but it wasn’t from any of your notes.

“You have no clue who that is, do you?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Your face said it. You’re usually harder to read than this.”

Raising a finger as if telling him to wait, you rolled the chair to the book shelf. You knew that name from somewhere, but if it was from where you thought it was, Cell had to be mistaken. You ran your finger over the spines of the books until you came across the one you were looking for. It was an academic anthology with pieces written by an assortment of young scholars. You flipped to an essay on the theoretical uses of Katchin, there was a black and white picture of the author. He wore a frumpy sweater vest and a pair of boxy framed glasses.

You held the opened book out to Cell, “This guy?”

He snatched the book out of your hand, “I’m going to throw this into the sun.”

“There are so many copies. Are you going to throw them all into the sun?”

“Then I’m going to throw him into the sun.”

“Aw, you can’t kill him, his essay is one of the better ones in the book!”

“I am definitely killing him.”

“Goodbye, smart boy. The scientific community hardly knew you,” sighing wistfully, you leaned back in the chair. You hadn’t noticed the ant-bot had been scaling the chair again until you heard it thud to the floor.

“He’s a grown man,” Cell snapped the book closed and tossed it over his shoulder. It struck a shelf, taking other books with it to a heap on the floor. You could see dented spines and folded pages all the way from your place at the desk.

Before you could protest the abuse of your books, another thought stepped in. You bolted upright, “Wait, how old was he when you fought him!?”

“Doctor.”

“You have that in common with Gero. Picking fights with actual children, I mean.”

“Doctor.”

“I’ve never held a grudge with a middle schooler, is it rough?”

Cell slammed his hands on the desk, you heard the wood groan in protest, “Doctor!”

You jumped and looked up with wide eyes, your voice suddenly small, “Yes?”

That was sobering. You had forgotten to be afraid. Concealing your fear wasn’t the same as not feeling it. 

“Don’t you have work to be doing?”

Planting your feet on the floor, you tried to straighten yourself. What could you tell him? That you were drinking to the incompetence of the Commander? That you were celebrating fooling a world-renown hero? That you were drowning out the first twinge of guilt since you’d embarked on this route?

He wrested the wine glass out of your hand when you didn’t answer. You tried to reach for it but he shoved you back into the chair. The force caused the ant-bot that had finally conquered the chair to fall forward into your lap. You clutched the bot tightly to your chest, like it could shield you.

“I’ll come back when you’ve reclaimed your dispassionate scientist act.”

He left with your wine glass. Jokes on him, you still had the rest of the bottle in here with you. You reached for the bottle when the ant-bot writhed in your arms, you heard the screech of metal-on-metal from within it. Disregarding the wine, you fished a screwdriver from one of the desk drawers. You starting taking it apart, it was bloated it places and gaps had formed in the casing. Something was jammed in the sample collector. Something pink.

_Work to be done, indeed._

 


	6. Nineteen 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I'm preparing for a trip. The next chapter may be out later than usual because of it.

Stepping out of your living room and into the corridor, you were shrugging into a white lab coat when you spotted Cell. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in what was becoming his customary stop to wait for you in the morning. As the days went by, it was becoming less surreal that he was a part of your daily routine. You silenced your concerns over this in favor of the results. You were learning so much!

Today was going to be an interesting test. You had completed a new addition for the gravity chamber. As much as you wanted to see the results, part of the test was finding out how long it’d preoccupy Cell while you were elsewhere.

“I have a present for you,” there was an undeniable bounce to your step. Straightening the lapels of the coat, you smothered your excitement and found the emotional dead spot that served you so well. It also irritated Cell, so that was a bonus

It had become something of a game. Seeing how long you could keep your cool while he nettled you. Some days, you won. He’d get frustrated and claim you were being difficult when he failed to provoke a substantial response. Some days, you lost. The exchange of verbal jabs would spiral out of control, you’d pull some face or raise your voice. He would be annoyingly smug for the rest of the day.

“Oh? This had better be good,” he fell in step beside you, walking slower than he normally would so as not to outpace you with his longer stride.

“It will be,” unfazed by his menacing tone, you had gotten good at discerning which of his threats were real and which were posturing.

As you walked, you could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t acknowledge the look, knowing it was a precursor to another barbed conversation. It seemed he was in a hurry to spoil your good mood.

His voice finally drew your gaze, “It’s clear that you didn’t intend for me to be awake this soon. Exactly what went wrong?”

You pressed your lips together, wondering how much you should share, “There was... a considerable distraction. The anesthetic failed.”

“Those work on me?”

“At first? Yes. But the conventional ones stopped working early on. I had to get creative.”

“How creative?” he narrowed his eyes.

“I had to engineer things that specifically targeted your brain,” you rubbed at the nape of your neck. This line of questioning was getting dangerous. It could tip your hand, revealing things you didn’t want him to know. Things that could save your skin further down the line.

“Such as?” he huffed when you didn’t elaborate to his liking.

“Carnivorous microscopic organisms.”

“You put _what_ in me!? That’s not an anesthetic!”

“I suppose not. But I got accustomed to calling it that,” you met his anger with frosty indifference.

“At this point, I don’t know why I question the leaps you take to absolve your conscience,” his lip curled into a sneer as he shook his head. There was a long pause in the conversation, long enough that you thought he’d exhausted the topic and the two of you could walk in silence. Then he spoke again, “Why did it fail?”

“Your immune system overcame each iteration.” It was time to change the subject, before he sussed out that you still had the latest batch on hand, “I don’t think you can get sick. At least, not for long. Gero could’ve been creating cures or vaccines. All the good he could have been doing with his intellect and he was wasting it on killer robots.”

“Sounds familiar,” he scoffed and you glared up at him. “Doctor, even you must admit that your moral high ground loses its credibility after a while.”

At least you had gotten him off topic.

Reaching the main lab, you scanned your fingerprints at the door. It had taken longer to repair the locks than it had to repair the doors themselves. Your fingers ached as you splayed them out for the reader. The knuckles had healed enough that you could forgo the splint, only suffering the occasional twinge of pain or stiffness throughout the day.

Walking into the lab, you glanced back at Cell as he ducked through the door after you. With the locks fixed, you supposed you should give him access to the lab as well. Locks wouldn’t stop him and you would rather not give him a reason to break your things. Besides, he’d already passed over and disregarded the secrets you wanted to keep. At the moment, a conversational misstep was more likely to ruin your plans.

Another thought interrupted your musing, “May I see your hand?”

"If you must,” with a small frown, he held his hand out to you, palm up. You nibbled your lower lip as you took his hand in yours. Peering at his fingertips, you ran your fingers lightly over his. There was a faint tremor through his arm. Was he ticklish? Curiosity begged you to find out, self-preservation told you you’d lose your fingers if you did.

“I don’t know how I missed this, you don’t have fingerprints. I’m going to have to change the locks to iris recognition.” You let go of his hand and got on your tiptoes to squint at his eyes, “Pink. Unusual but at least there’s a pattern to them.”

“Personal space,” his shoulders tensed as he leaned away from you.

“Of course, because you have been so considerate of my own,” putting your hands behind your back, you titled your head to the side as you remained exactly where you were standing.

He growled wordlessly and stepped around you to explore the lab, investigating the changes you’d made since he’d last been in here. Cell was usually quick to remind you how weak you were. But anytime you treated him like an experiment you could poke and prod, it made him... uncomfortable? Nervous? You weren’t sure what to make of it. Maybe he still wasn’t sure what to make you either?

Cell found the cylindrical container holding the Buu sample and tapped the glass with his nail. The pink sphere snapped from its docile position in the center of the container, to pressing flush against the glass near Cell’s hand.

“Needy little thing, isn’t it?” he moved his hand along the glass and it followed.

When you first put the sample in the container, it leaned in a fixed direction, realigning itself even when you moved the container. It took consulting a map for you to realize it was aligning itself with Satan City. More specifically, the direction of the creature it came from.

A few days ago, it inexplicably ceased. Now it moved towards anything that passed the glass.

“Don’t play with it.”

It had grown to the size of a marble by the time you found it in the ant-bot. After feeding it more foodstuff, it maxed out at around the size of a golf ball. The way it chased movement, made you curious if a living specimen would continue its growth.

“What is it? This wasn’t in here last time.”

“It’s not ready to _be_ anything. Leave it alone, please,” you gave the container a wide berth. The longer you kept the sample, the more wary you became of it.

The truth was, you had no clue what it was. You couldn’t deem it organic or artificial. If it was organic, it didn’t conform to your understanding of biology. If it was artificial, its construction was seamless, surpassing anything you could create. There was a third option, but you would choke before admitting anything supernatural was going on.

Approaching your work bench, you yanked the sheet off the thing you’d been building. It was humanoid but skeletal, revealing pistons and tubes of encased wires. It lacked even the ugly metal paneling you covered the ant-bots in. It looked unfinished but it’d serve its purpose.

“Someone to keep you company in the gravity chamber,” dancing your fingers across a nearby console, the automaton sat up. Sitting idly as it waited for a command.

Cell crossed his arms as he eyed the figure, “An android? I thought you accused Gero of wasting time on these? This is from one of his schematics, isn’t it?”

You carried on as if you didn’t hear the implied insult, “Yes, Android 19’s to be exact. I trimmed down some of its functions, I didn’t see the point in giving it speech or the precise motor function Gero gave his version.” You rocked on your heels as you hummed to yourself, “I still can’t figure out why he’d design a killer robot that could do brain surgery.”

“You didn’t see the point in giving it skin either?”

Planting your fists on your hips, you rounded on Cell, “Why does it need skin?! No one is going to see it! And you’re going to break it anyway!”

“As long as you're aware that I’m going to break this piece of junk immediately,” a small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you out of the corner of his eye. He turned his attention back to the android, “You know this model didn’t last long, right? Can it fight?”

“This version is much faster than the original. It will listen to basic commands and it’s programmed to evade damage. Just keep whatever you do to it confined to the gravity chamber,” you turned your back on Cell, heading towards the lab door.

“That wasn’t an answer.” He gave a start as he realized you were leaving, “And where are you going?”

“I have to make the trip into town. For some reason, my food is running out faster than usual,” you looked back at him pointedly.

His face went blank, like he had no clue what you were talking about.

You had taken to leaving food out at night like you were feeding a stray cat. Sometimes it was untouched, sometimes it was only picked at, sometimes the food would be completely gone. The strangest part wasn’t that he’d actually eat the food, it was that when he did you’d find the dish rinsed and placed neatly in the sink. It was oddly polite. If he didn’t eat it, or only partially ate it, he’d leave the plate on the counter where he found it.

“You know, if you’re going to eat, you can eat with me,” you offered as you paused at the door.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Conversation? Actual hot food?” Your voiced hiked into that biting sugary tone, “Less weird than eating my leftovers in the middle of the night while I’m asleep, like some raccoon rooting through the trash?”

You could see his eyes widen from across the lab, “Is that what you- ugh, fine, I will consider it.”

“Excellent. Now have fun with your new friend,” you bobbed your head to him as you made your exit.

 

* * *

 

Venturing into public spaces was disorienting. You spent so long in the isolation of the facility that these rare trips into Fungus Town were almost overwhelming. An actual city would have been dizzying. Each time you left the facility, you had to relearn how to interact with people in a setting you couldn’t control.

Despite that, Fungus Town managed to endear itself to you. The place was terrorized by some weird rabbit themed gang years ago and it never quite bounced back. People here kept their heads down and minded their own business. The residents had come to recognize you over the years but they never pried. As long as you left people alone and spent your money here, they welcomed you.

Hefting a bag of rice into the shopping cart, you realized there were more items in your cart than you remembered. Items that weren’t on your list. You glanced up and down the aisle, trying to figure out if you’d somehow switched carts with a stranger. But the aisle was empty.

Someone appeared beside you and dropped an armful of things into your cart. You jumped and stifled a shriek by clamping a hand over your mouth. Cell rolled his eyes like you were the one being ridiculous right now.

“What are you doing here?! Didn’t I make you a playmate?” you glowered up at him.

“I broke it,” he said flatly, he turned his back to you as he examined the food items on the shelves. 

“Already!”

“It wasn’t very strong,” he began plucking things off the shelf and dropping them into your cart. You frowned at the odd assortment of groceries he was collecting. “And I figured, if I’m going to be eating, I may as well have some say in what it is.”

“It wasn’t made to be strong! It was made to be fast. The challenge was supposed to be hitting it in a high gravity environment!” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “And you don’t know anything about food! This is a bag of flour!” you picked up the bag and set it on the shelf, even though it belonged a few aisles over.

“Well, I hit it and it broke. Either make it faster or make it stronger, I don’t care which.”

Your breath caught in your throat as another shopper pushed their cart by the end of the aisle. Thankfully they didn’t turn down the aisle and kept moving instead. You exhaled and glanced up at Cell, he was watching you with an impassive face, “Please. Go back to the facility. I will buy whatever junk you want. Just, go.”

He leaned down to peer at your face, “You’re jumpier than usual. Whatever is the problem?”

“You know what the problem is! Get out of here before someone sees you! I will beg you to leave if that’s what it takes.”

Cell stood back up to his full height, his tone casual, “Do you think I could pick off everyone in this town without raising any alarm?”

“Yes, you could! But you shouldn’t because this is the closest town to home and I want to keep shopping here. Someone will notice if this place goes quiet.”

“Oh, but I need _something_ to keep me keen. Since you can’t seem to fulfill your promises, doctor.”

“Then go murder some other town!” you snapped. Wincing as the words left your mouth, you knew he wasn’t going to take that as sarcasm.

He looked down at you with a viscous grin.

“Do. Not,” you waved a stern finger at him. Or it would have been stern if you weren’t so tense that your whole body was trembling.

His smile dialed back to something less terrifying, but a look flicked across his eyes, so brief you weren’t even sure it was there, “I won’t. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the spectacle. You should see this debt thing blow up in your face.”

“Sure, whatever, we’ll make a day trip out of it. Now would you please leave?” you tried shoving him lightly as if prompting him to leave, knowing you couldn’t actually budge him.

“You mentioned begging?” he grabbed both your wrists, holding your arms in place in front of you.

Your face twisted into a silent snarl and he squeezed your wrists, briefly but painfully.

“I’ll settle for that face,” he let you go. He took a step back, his tone mocking the false pleasant one you’d used on him earlier, “Remember! You promised me results.”

The air tugged at your hair as he vanished.

 

* * *

 

Frowning down at the jumbled mess of broken parts and tangled limbs that was your android, you sighed and hunkered down at the workbench. It would be easy enough, with the help of the ant-bots, to rebuild it. You’d already done the initial trail and error, figuring out what you wanted from it. Now you could focus on improvements.

You should have stayed and observed. You should have been here to do damage control with Cell. You knew it wasn't a match for him, that it would need adjustments. It wasn’t meant to fight him, only evade him.

How could you have known he’d follow you into town?

No, no more excuses. You had gotten too comfortable.

The cost of keeping Cell awake was too steep. He was a ticking time bomb. You were only a few flimsy lies away from disaster. There would be no incentive for him to behave if he knew the kill switch was a bluff.

Fungus Town would be history. And if you were lucky, he’d only deem _some_ of your limbs nonessential.

Bruises peeked out of your sleeve where they had formed around your wrists. Your eyes flicked to the lab fridge. It was time to stop dragging your feet.

Then why were you so… hesitant? Why were you playing games with him? Or inviting him to eat with you? The isolation of the facility must have gotten to you.

Digging for your troubled memories, the ones you’d worked so hard to bury, you needed the wake-up call they provided. Your hands froze mid-motion. You sat at the workbench, blinking down at the android you’d begun repairing on autopilot.

You couldn’t remember. Not clearly.

Had you gotten too good at locking the past away? Too good at pretending it happened to someone else? Too good at putting neat little labels on your bottled up memories? Only giving the labels a cursory glance, never delving into the contents.

_Everyone you knew was dead._

_You survived on luck._

Was that all you had? You remembered the faces of your neighbors, the color of your house, the arrangements of the streets. But the day itself was a blur. You remembered running, not looking when people called your name, collapsing somewhere outside town. But there was more to it than that. There had to be! 

_What were you protecting yourself from?_

That cinched it, you got up and retrieved the vial from the lab fridge. The Buu sample followed you in its container as you walked by.

Returning to the workbench, you picked up one of the dislodged hands and ran a thumb over the palm. The palm was empty, you had decided this model’s ability to absorb energy was noncritical. Figuring out how the energy absorption worked, then replicating it, would’ve been a serious time sink.

But you had another idea. You didn’t know why Gero needed this model to be so precise, but you could see a use for returning that skill to it.

Starting tomorrow, everything would be under control again.


	7. Put a Ribbon On It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I got back from my vacation and forgot how writing works.

Repairing the android was a rush job. You hadn’t gotten much sleep, only dozing briefly in the lab. You had to make adjustments quickly, trying to squeeze more speed out of it with the time you had.

_The time you had?_

The encounter with Cell in Fungus Town had started an invisible timer. You didn’t know how much time was left or what would happen when the timer ran out, you only knew your tentative arrangement with Cell was coming to an end.

The repaired android followed you as you led it into the inactive gravity chamber. You felt small as you stood in the big white room, the glare of it straining your sleep deprived eyes.

“Ah, the piece of junk returns. That was fast,” Cell had been waiting for you in the gravity chamber. He made a show of looking bored as he glanced over the android.

You stayed silent. Exchanging barbs would only rile you up, you needed full control of your emotions today.

Gesturing for the android to move further into the room, it complied. It watched you with dead eyes, its face a grotesque skeletal thing without the artificial skin. Maybe Gero’s mime really was more palatable than this thing?

You made a motion to leave, so the training could commence.

“There is something we need to discuss,” Cell’s voice had too much mirth to it. That did not bode well.

You turned back to face him. Putting your hands in your pockets, you clutched the remote you’d completed earlier this morning. This confrontation wasn’t supposed to happen now. Not with you standing in the same room! You focused on your breathing as Cell approached.

Slow and even. Slow and even.

He gave the android one last sneer as he passed it. Returning his attention to you, a little smile took its place, “I was thinking about the kill switch.”

The invisible timer went off in your head.

Slow and even.

“You were so nervous back in that town. It made me wonder, what could our careful little doctor be so afraid of?”

You stared up at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

When you didn’t respond, he scowled down at you before resuming, “You can destroy me at any moment with that kill switch, can’t you?” He reached out to you, pressing two fingers against the side of your throat, his thumb on your jaw to hold you steady. “Or perhaps this kill switch shares similarities with my self destruct?”

Your pulse raced against his fingers. Similarities? It was the same damn thing!

“I see,” he nodded as if you’d spoken the words. “I’m _very_ familiar with how potent that self destruct is. Have you altered it in any way?”

Slow and even.

“Doctor?” he pressed his thumb into your jaw, you felt the nail sink in. A wince escaped you before you could reign it in. He knew the answer, he wanted to hear you say it.

“No,” your voice was clipped.

“You are aware your planet wouldn’t survive the blast?” he dropped his hold on you and you took a step back involuntarily.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Your fingers tightened on the remote in your pocket, staying your hand so you wouldn’t rub at the scratch he’d left on you face. You could feel the cold pinpricks of your blood meeting the air.

“That changes things now, doesn’t it? You don’t have anything to hold over me, so we’re doing things my way from now on.” He looked far too pleased with himself, “Not that you were ever in charge to begin with, but now you know it as well as I do.”

You grit your teeth. _This will work!_

He smiled when he noticed the way you set your jaw, he was finally getting a response out of you, “You will deliver on your promises. For each day you fail, I will find someone from that little town, bring them here and kill them. That should be adequate motivation to use your time more wisely.”

Your stomach dropped but anger rose up in its place, “No.”

He blinked once and tilted his head to the side. There it was: hesitation. A look of doubt flicked across his face for the barest of moments. He still didn’t have you completely figured out. Good.

“No? You’re still confused, let me- ”

“No!” You lowered your voice, collecting your emotions once more, “I haven’t been dragging my feet and you know it. I don’t need motivating. This is an excuse.”

“What?” he narrowed his eyes. He took a step closer and you took another step back.

“It’s an excuse. To punish me. To hurt those people. I doesn’t matter what the reason is, it’s an excuse to act like a monster.”

“I don’t need excuses. You think you can get away with-”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” You let the emotion claw its way back into your voice, “You were right when you said I think I’m smarter than everyone else! But I don’t think I’m smarter, I _know_ I’m smarter.”

Without waiting for a response, you pressed the button on the remote.

The android which had remained motionless during this entire exchange, moved. What happened next was too fast for you to track.

It struck Cell at the base of his skull. It wasn’t a hard hit, it wasn’t designed to hit hard. Only precise. Cell hit back and the android was in pieces across the gravity chamber. He held the android’s arm in his fist, its fingers still twitching. There was an almost delicate looking needle protruding from the palm, where Gero’s model would’ve absorbed energy.

“You...” he hissed, the look he gave you was pure vitriol. Cell crushing the arm in his hand.

For a brief moment, you feared it had failed. Did the needle strike true? Had he caught it before it hit its mark? Was his immune system too much for the microorganisms to overcome?

He took a step towards you.

Then he staggered.

“I am certainly smarter than you,” your voice was steadier than you felt.

“… I’m going to...” He lurched forward and grabbed the collar of your coat.

He fell to one knee. You yelped and tried to break free, feeling a pop in the seams of the lab coat for your effort. He fell to the ground with a growl, pulling you to the floor with him. You wiggled out of the coat, leaving it in his grasp as you scrambled backwards on the floor.

You sat a few feet away from him, panting and watching his prone form. _Please don’t get up, please don’t get up, please don’t get up._

After a solid minute, you finally found your feet again. You walked over to him and tugged at the coat. You heard another tear of fabric and gave up, flinging the coat over him like a tiny shroud.

It was time to get back to work. You needed to return him to the lab quickly. You didn’t know exactly how long the anesthetic would keep him under.

You didn’t have a gurney, but you did have an industrial six-wheeled cart. You ran to the storage room to retrieve it.

Parking the cart next to him, you glanced over him with a small frown. How the hell were you going to get him on the damn thing?

Rolling up your sleeves, you tugged at his arm first. Nothing. Your tried putting your full weight into it, your fingers lost hold and sent you sprawling to the floor. Groaning, you got back up and tried again with his wings. No avail. He was too heavy to move on your own.

Realizing you were being a fool, you ducked into the hall and hit the button on a wall panel. Six ant-bots dutifully emerged from the recess.

“I make you guys look like ants then try doing the heavy lifting myself,” you said with a weak laugh.

You felt light headed. You weren’t as certain of the outcome of your confrontation with Cell as you’d boasted. If at any point you had allowed yourself to stop and think about what could have gone wrong, you would have hesitated. But now that it was over, your nerves were hitting you all at once.

So much could have gone wrong.

Before going back into the gravity chamber, you crouched on the floor, holding your head in your hands. You rocked on your heels, waiting for your heart to stop racing and your breath to stop hitching.

Your hand brushed the scratch on your jaw, the blood had already dried. The sting of your hand on the shallow wound, cleared your head. _Get your shit together, you have too much to do._

With the combined effort of the ant-bots pushing and you pulling, you finally got Cell onto the cart. Giving a labored huff, you shoved the cart into motion. Heading towards your lab, the ant-bots trailed you.

As you pushed the cart towards the lab, you still felt dizzy from your victory. Had you really done that? Honestly, why do these meatheads fight each other? If all it takes is one clever weakling to fuck up their day, what the hell is Bulma Briefs doing!?

Then again, that had been absolutely terrifying. You had only narrowly avoided serious harm to your person. Perhaps it was better to let the meatheads fight each other?

A low thrum throughout the building interrupting your musing. There was a pulse that you could feel in your bones. You glanced down at Cell, the coat was still draped over his head were you left it. You knelt down and nudged him to be sure.

_What the hell was that?_

Lights went off one by one down the corridor. A wall of darkness approaching you.

No, no, no, no. Whatever this was it could NOT be happening right now. Not when everything was finally going right!

A panicked thought urged you to get inside the lab before the wave of darkness hit you.

You shoved the cart as fast as you could.

“Come on, come on!” you pleaded with yourself when the lab door came into view.

The darkness engulfed you as soon as you hit the door, your hand slamming uselessly against the dead fingerprint reader. The ant-bots ceased functioning with the lights. The red emergency lights didn’t come on either. This wasn't the power being cut to the building. This was total electronic failure.

Every breath you took and every shuffle of your feet sounded too loud in the silence that followed.

You knelt next to Cell and shoved him harder, “If this is you, you’re doing a hell of a job.”

No response.

Finding out what had done this, could wait. You had to get into the lab, Cell wasn’t going to stay unconscious forever. You did not want to find out how he would repay you for this stunt.

Leaving Cell in the hallway for now, you jogged to your living quarters. A hand on the wall to guide your way.

Stumbling through the entryway, you clumsily felt your way to the kitchen. It took you a few tries to find the junk drawer in the kitchen. Fumbling through the drawer, you found a pack of matches. No candles.

Cursing under your breath, you settled for the matches. You struck one and went to find the tools you kept in the study. Taking the tool kit, you lit another match to find your way back to the hall. Once in the hall, you walked back to the lab in darkness to avoid wasting matches.

Setting the tools down by the door, you lit another match and stared at the panel with the fingerprint reader. Your hand hovered over the tools.

_What the fuck are you doing?_

It took soldiers with explosives to bust down this door. What were you going to do with a box of simple tools? In match light?!

The match fizzled out at your fingers, burning you. You dropped it with a hiss.

A bitter little laugh escaped you.

You were so fucked.

There was a thud behind you.

You froze, your breath caught. Glancing at the cart, you could still see the mound that was Cell in the dark. He wasn’t awake. Someone else was in the building with you.

Footsteps rushed you before you could turn. Something struck you in the back of the head.

Your vision swam. Then nothing.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because this is somehow the best and worst day of my life. I suppose I owe you.”

“Owe me?”

“Yeah, like a debt?”

“How exactly do you plan on fulfilling this debt?”

“You’re asking me? Honestly, I thought it would be with my life.”

“Don’t get boring on me all of a sudden. How would you repay me?”

 

* * *

 

You awoke with a gasp.

Propped up in a chair in a concrete room, a dream about an old conversation faded from your memory. Before you was a heavy metallic door. Beside you a pane of black one-way glass. Florescent lights cast a sickly hue over everything. Including the two armed guards at the door, standing silently in their matching uniforms and red insignia.

They hadn’t handcuffed you or tied you to the chair. They didn’t have to.

Of all the things that could’ve gone wrong today, the Red Ribbon Army was not one of them. Maybe you should have expected it with their track record of showing up at the worst possible moment?

Now they had your project. You might as well have gift wrapped Cell for them.

Your head throbbed from where they’d hit you.

There was a sound at the door.

One of the guards stepped forward and socked you across the face. You could taste the blood on your lip. It hurt like hell but it banished the fog in your head. You were wide awake now.

The door opened and a familiar man stepped in. The Commander smiled far too wide, his arms spread like he was going to swoop in for an embrace, “Ah, our wayward scientist, finally back in the fold!”

“I was never one of yours,” you glared up at him. You were too tired to keep the hostility out of your voice.

“You will be. All in good time,” he chuckled. “But first, how _do_ you control him?”

So that’s how this was going to go? They wanted Cell and they thought you held his leash. They would keep you alive until they could wrest it from you. They'd been monitoring the facility close enough to know when to strike, when Cell was incapacitated, but not close enough to know the circumstances.

Weren’t they going to be upset when he woke up?

That thought made you laugh. You were too exhausted and scared to keep it under control. You couldn’t stop laughing. The Commander’s smile faded, he stared down at you like you’d grown another head. The guards shared a glance with each other.

You finally wheezed out, “I... Ha! I don’t!”

The guard who hadn't hit you shuffled uneasily. Smart boy. He might have sense enough to live. 

“Oh, then he takes naps like that of his own volition? He’s quite the heavy sleeper if that’s the case,” the Commander rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe you. Most of them wouldn’t until it was too late.

Your voice still held subdued laughter, “If I controlled him, killing you would’ve been the first thing I'd have done.”

The Commander's face twisted into a ugly scowl. He struck you hard enough that you fell out of the chair. 

There was that temper you remembered. 

“It’d be in your best interest to help us,” he kicked you once in the stomach to emphasize his point.

You groaned and curled into a ball, taking pained breaths through you teeth.

“I’ll let you think it over.”


End file.
